


Love your curves (and all your edges)

by panicparade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: kinkfest, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kink Exploration, Lingerie, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicparade/pseuds/panicparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco isn't sure how he feels about Harry's new gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love your curves (and all your edges)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://hp-kinkfest.livejournal.com/159368.html) for the HP Kinkfest. 
> 
>  
> 
> Dear amorette, your prompt was awesome enough to make me try and dare writing something with an NC-17 rating. I apologize if this isn't what you wanted but I tried!! :) This fic wouldn't have been written without this_bloody_cat who is the best handholder and supporter! ♥ *hugs* And loads of thanks to lauren3210 for the really speedy beta job! :) All remaining mistakes are my own. Title is from All of Me by John Legend.  
> 

Draco comes home to find a package on the bed.  
  
He’s had a long day, Blaise hadn’t stopped talking about his date last night and as a result they’d fallen behind in their orders. They had only managed to send out half of their batch of deliveries, with another batch prepped and ready to be sent off the next day.  
  
All Draco wants now is a nice long soak in the bath, with one of those bath oils Pansy sent him last month, and then maybe a slow, lazy fuck before bed.  
  
He can feel his breath quicken as he eyes the bag on the bed. Draco carefully places his satchel next to the door, not wanting to break the fragile mood of the room. Even his breathing feels  _too_ loud; it almost seems to crash against the silence.  
  
It’s been like this since the second time Harry brought him something to wear. Draco loves every bit of it - the surprise at finding something waiting for him, the anticipation and the curiosity to figure out  _what_ was hiding behind the innocent wrapping.  
  
Not that they had gifted each other anything even remotely naughty yet; it was more than that.  
  


(*)

  
Draco had been walking down Oxford St. when he had noticed the sweater. Soft green and cable knit, he could already imagine how it would hug Harry’s waist, wrap around his shoulders. It would cling to his muscles, built after long hours at the Auror’s gym, and highlight them.  
  
Draco had stepped into the shop, one hand reaching for his wallet, before thinking about it.  
  
Harry had loved the sweater, had tried it on immediately only to take it off again a minute later because Draco had been right about how it would frame Harry’s body.  
  
A week later Harry had brought Draco a tie, deep grey in silk; Harry had been drawn to it when Hermione had dragged him gift shopping for Ron.  
  
The next day Draco had worn that tie to work, leaving before Harry could catch a glimpse of it. That day, University Maintenance workers could be seen scratching their heads and wondering why lift 17 was stuck between Floors 6 and 7; all their scans showed the lift was fine and should be working. An hour later, Auror Potter and Asst. Professor Malfoy had emerged from the lift, looking as confused as the maintenance workers were.  
  
No one noticed them share a smirk as Auror Potter bid goodbye to Asst. Professor Malfoy. If somebody had paid careful attention they would have noticed how rumpled Mr. Malfoy’s tie was.  
  


(*)

  
Harry isn’t in the room but Draco can tell he’s home. Draco would never admit it out loud but he can always tell Harry is home just by how warm the house gets when he steps out of the Floo, how it feels a little more like home when he knows Harry is somewhere in there, probably sprawled across the sofa, watching one of those ridiculous Muggle movies he loves so much.  
  
Draco smiles softly as he hears Harry’s light footsteps pause at the doorway; he loves watching Draco open his gifts.  
  
Draco takes a moment to assess the bag, the light blue unfamiliar to him, as is the extensive amount of tissue heaped in the bag. He rifles through it; his fingers searching for the box he knows should be there. He steps closer as he pulls out the box and pushes the bag to the side, a little too excitedly perhaps if Harry’s chuckle is any indication.  
  
He chances a glance at Harry then, pausing to take in the way he can’t stop tapping his fingers against his arm. He stills when he realises Draco’s noticed it but it’s no use now; Draco can only wonder why Harry’s nervous.  
  
He carefully places the box is his lap and gets comfortable.  
  
He definitely isn’t expecting to find lingerie.  
  
Resting on soft paper, the green lacy knickers are innocent looking; if he can get over the fact that they’re  _green, lacy knickers_.  
  
Draco blinks, and hesitantly reaches out to touch the dark green silk; he loses his strength halfway and pulls his hand back. He wants to will himself to reach out and touch it at least, but a large part of him rebels at the thought, no matter how  _badly_ he wants to feel the softness against his skin.  
  
He’s startled out of his thoughts when he feels Harry’s hand on his shoulder, pressing down once before carefully picking the box off of Draco’s lap and taking it away. Draco turns as he hears the cupboard door shut softly; Harry’s waiting for him to meet his gaze and he smiles reassuringly before beckoning Draco closer.  
  
Draco didn’t realise how tensely he was holding himself till he felt Harry’s fingers brush against his collarbone, making him sigh and almost melt against that firm chest.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Draco whispers to Harry’s neck, wanting to drown himself in the scent of sweat and  _Harry_.  
  
Harry tightens his arms and shakes his head, making his hair brush across Draco’s face. He hums and sways in place, making Draco move with him.  
  
But despite the feeling of  _alright-ness_  threatening to overwhelm him, Draco can’t stop thinking about Harry’s nervousness and his easy acceptance of Draco’s refusal, as if he had known that would happen.

  
(*)

  
Draco can’t stop thinking about it.  
  
He shakes his head irritably and slams his book shut.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
Draco startles, he hadn’t realised Blaise had walked into the room and taken a seat at his table opposite Draco. The University was going through a refurbishment, forcing professors to find other accommodations for their offices. As Blaise and Draco were _both_ Assistant Professors they weren’t afforded the luxury of getting to choose their temporary offices, or getting individual rooms. Not that it mattered, they had been together even before the refurbishment. The only positive in the entire situation was that Draco was now an entire floor away from Proff. Hedgebraun, bringing down the number of urgent Floo calls to only eight times a day.  
  
“Nothing,” Draco replies tersely, hoping his tone would be enough to ensure Blaise didn’t try to pry. He should have known better.  
  
Blaise leans forward on his table, pushing away some papers. As their tables were joined together face to face, Blaise leans forward over the desk, and Draco scowls as his jostling overturns a pile of sheets.  
  
“Don’t lie,” Blaise says, ignoring Draco’s mutterings. “You only read  _The adventures of Asgard_ , when you’re stressed.”  
  
Draco curses; he thought he had hidden it carefully this time. “I’m just tired.”  
  
“Then you would drink lots of tea, except you’ve only had one cup since the morning.”  
  
Sometimes having a best friend sucked.  
  
“Is Potter keeping you up at night?”  
  
Draco chuckles, “More like the other way ‘round.”  
  
At Blaise’s guffaw he clarifies with a smile, “There was an interesting movie on the telly, I didn’t want to leave it halfway.”  
  
Blaise sniggers and leans back in his chair, “Look at you, all domestic bliss and all that.”  
  
Draco pulls a book on the structural effect of century old wards towards himself, unable to stop the soft smile from quirking his lips.  
He still couldn’t stop thinking about the box in Harry’s closet.

  
(*)

  
Draco is grading assignments when he can’t take it anymore. His thoughts have been in chaos the past four days, ever since he’d opened that damn box.  
  
Harry isn’t home yet, and judging by his schedule on the study wall, which is updated the moment he is called away on a mission, he is in the middle of a stakeout.  
  
Draco bites his lip, pressed his teeth sharp so that the pain keeps him focussed. He stands suddenly, the chair scraping back loudly in the quiet house. Within moments he is in their room, standing in front of Harry’s cupboard. The mess inside makes him cringe, side tracking him; only the slight throbbing of his lip brings him back to focus. He has no problems finding the box, seeing how it was placed right in  _front_ , on top of the fingerless gloves he had gifted to Harry a few months ago.  
  
The sight makes him pause; he pulls in a sharp breath when he realises that Harry had been intending for him to find it.  
  
He had known Draco would go looking for it.  
  
That conviction, the knowledge that Harry probably understood him better than himself is what makes Draco reach out and pick up the box. His hands are shaking slightly, enough to make him pause and take a deep breath; he focusses on the throbbing in his lip, lets it take over till he is no longer pulling in deep, gasping breaths.  
  
It is easy to pull at the ribbon, making it unravel and fall around the box. Draco winces as his teeth press into his already tender lip. He lifts the cover, placing it carefully to the side before he moves the soft wrapping paper to the side.  
  
Even though he’s seen it before, hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it, his eyes still widen in surprise at seeing it again, laid out in front of him.  
  
Draco can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, down his throat, making him tug at his collar. He brushes his fingers against the silk, gasping at the feel of the softness against his skin, his traitorous mind unhelpfully wondering what it would feel like against other parts of his body. He focusses on the pulsing pain in his lip and wills the thought away. Unfortunately for him, that thought is then replaced by Harry’s face, the resigned look in his eyes enough to make Draco steel his nerves.  
  
He takes them out of the box, suppressing a shudder at the feel of all that silk against his fingers. From what he knows of the different kinds of knickers out there, and  _not_ that he knows a lot, these aren’t the most scandalous or provocative.  
  
At the corner of the room is a full length mirror, one that had been in his old room at the Manor and he hadn’t been able to part with when he was moving out. It’s ostentatious, with the brass feet and the elaborate carvings around the sides, but Draco loves it.  
  
He stands, socked feet shuffling against the carpet as he moves so that he’s right in front of the mirror. He takes a minute to look over himself, his cheeks flushed red, as is his lip, and his eyes are wide and dazed. Before he can talk himself out his ridiculous plan, Draco starts unbuttoning his trousers.  
  
Getting undressed is easy, he has practice in how to be fast because Harry has almost no patience, except the times when  _he_ decides to take it slow and make Draco go crazy with want.  
  
He blinks at his reflection, feeling oddly self-conscious standing half naked in his own bedroom. Draco doesn’t bother to remove his shirt and tie; he doesn’t think he’s ready to be fully naked.  
  
He bites his lip, picks up the pair of knickers and closes his eyes while pulling them on. Of course that means he can’t see very well and he almost ends up falling flat on his back. It’s only when he has them on that Draco stills, breathing slow and deep to take in the feel of it.  
  
They are . . . restricting, is the first thought that comes to Draco’s head. He shifts, trying to get used to the feeling, except that makes them move against his skin and Draco gasps out loud at the sensation, the soft barely-there whisper of a touch. He can feel himself harden in reaction, making them even tighter.  
  
Draco opens his eyes.  
  
His shirt tails reach till his thighs, obstructing his view; he gathers his shirt around his waist and takes in his reflection.  
  
He looks positively  _indecent_ and he likes it.  
  
He can see the material stretched around him, clearly showing how aroused he is. The lace around the edges is ruffled, tickling his thighs, but instead of looking feminine like Draco had feared it would look, Draco thinks it looks  _good_.  
  
The green is dark against his skin, though not dark enough to hide the rapidly forming wet spot that makes Draco moan and reach down to adjust himself, his fingers curling around his cock, making the material slide against his skin.  
  
He turns, taking in the way the knickers curve around his arse,  _just_ skimpy enough to tease. He can see why Harry picked this for him.  
  
Draco stands there, admiring himself till he hears the Floo chime. He hastily packs away the knickers and shoves them back in Harry closet.  
  
Then, he takes off his shirt and walks out into the living room to greet Harry in just his tie.  
  


(*)

  
Draco spends the next three days anxiously waiting for Harry to say something.  
  
He tries to ignore the part of him that  _wants_ Harry to say something.  
  
Harry, for his part, doesn’t say or do anything out of the ordinary. He still manages to find creative ways to wake Draco up, goes to work, comes back, cooks dinner, watches TV with Draco and then fucks Draco over the sofa or in bed, if they make it to there.  
  
Draco can feel the wait taking its toll on him; he spends his entire day wondering if today would be the day when Harry opens the box and confronts him. He can feel the anticipation like a vibration under his skin, winding him tighter till he’s scared he might snap from all the tension.  
  
Finally, there comes a day, when Draco’s done with waiting for Harry.  
  
The moment he steps through the Floo, Draco drops his bag near the sofa and heads for their bedroom. He winces when his teeth press into his lip; he’s been nervously biting it since the morning. Harry’s cupboard is still the same, messy and cringe-worthy as ever, but there’s something new, something that makes Draco stop in his tracks.  
  
Beside the old box, with its ribbon still hastily wrapped, is another box.  
  
Draco pulls in a sharp breath, his hands tightening on the cupboard door. He can feel a grin taking over his face, unaware of just how badly he had been waiting for some kind of reaction from Harry.  
  
He has the new pair out in no time, the soft pink making him roll his eyes as he takes in the delicate lace. He can tell without trying them on that these are smaller, will be more revealing than the last ones.  
  
He doesn’t waste any time today, shedding his trousers and pants in seconds and tugging on the new pair. He keeps his eyes open this time, watching the silk move up his legs. He stares, transfixed, at the image it makes – the delicate, lacy knickers against his legs, his definitely hairy legs. The contrasting image makes him feel like he’s doing something he shouldn’t, like he  _isn’t allowed_  to do this.  
  
The forbidden feeling behind the act turns Draco on as much as the act itself does.  
  
He pulls on the pair and breathes, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of the silk rubbing against him. It’s with a jolt that he realises he’d been missing this, had been waiting for it since the time he had tried on the first pair.  
  
Draco can feel his cheeks flush with heat as he takes in his reflection. His shirt this time isn’t long enough, giving him an unobstructed view. The front is already almost soaked through, evidence of Draco’s arousal straining against the silk. He turns slightly, unable to suppress a slight moan as the kickers rub against him, to take in how his arse looks.  
  
He can’t bite back the grin that threatens to rise; he  _knows_ exactly why Harry picked this particular pair. There’s not really anything left to the imagination, the lace at the back barely brushes the curve of his arse.  
  
As he’s admiring the view Draco spots the first box on the bed, the ribbon tied more messily than when he had left it. He reaches out to pull off the ribbon and drag the box closer.  
  
His surprise, and arousal, at finding lingerie inside the box is nothing compared to the sheer surge of arousal he feels when he finds the crumpled green knickers inside the box. He  _knows_ , he remembers for sure that he hadn’t left them this dirty last time.  
  
The thought of Harry, his strong, firm Harry, handling these dainty knickers, wrapping them around his cock and wanking himself with them is enough to make Draco’s knees buckle. He sits on the bed, one hand reaching down to rub himself through the silk, the other hand curled around the dirty pair.  
  
All it takes is the image of Harry braced against the cupboard door, vivid green visible between his fingers as he wanks himself before Draco is coming. He falls back onto the bed, no longer able to hold up his own weight.  
  
Once he’s able to stand and get started with cleaning himself up, Draco realises he’s probably ruined the pair. But as he’s packing them back the way he found them Draco can’t help but smirk, imagining Harry’s reaction at finding the ruined pair.  
  


(*)

  
There’s something to be said about anticipation. It makes for a wicked companion for sure but it also heightens the expectations. Draco spends each day now wondering about what new gift he’ll find in Harry’s cupboard. It might have only been a week but he’s already formed a routine of sorts, rushing back home from work to try on his newest gift. His favourite so far is the deep red sheer lace number that he got on Wednesday; Harry had been scheduled to be on a stakeout till midnight and Draco had spent half the evening walking around the house in only his t-shirt and the knickers.  
  
Then, on Friday, Draco decides he’s tired of waiting.  
  


(*)

  
Very rarely does he wake up before Harry, who likes to squeeze in a morning jog before work. But with the stakeout continuing for two days, Harry’s out cold in bed as Draco gets ready for work. The boxes catch his eye when he opens Harry’s cupboard to look for his grey tie.  
  
On a stroke of recklessness, something he rarely experiences and even more rarely follows through on, Draco grabs the box and pulls out the red pair of knickers. He has them on before he can spare a second to rationalise.  
  
He feels giddy with the adrenaline coursing through him as he knots his tie; his fingers are trembling as he pulls on his coat and fixes the collar. Harry’s still sleeping behind him, blissfully unaware of Draco’s nervousness. But he won’t be unaware for long; Draco’s left the cupboard door open, enough that Harry will face the empty box as soon as opens the cupboard.  
  
As he moves around the house gathering his things, Draco tries to keep from leaning against the wall and rubbing his palm across his crotch;  _anything_ to feel the soft silk sliding against his cock. He steels himself and steps towards the Floo, thanking the Fates that he has only one lecture today.  
  
He’s re-evaluating that decision four hours later when he’s standing at the front of the lecture hall, trying not to fidget too much and hoping that the flush on his face isn’t too noticeable.  
  
The last three hours had been pure torture on him; sitting still at his seat while Blaise chatted on about his date had been a test of patience and will power. All he had wanted to do had been to go home and wake Harry up, finally put an end to all the teasing and playing. But there was something exhilarating about being rebellious like this; breaking the rules has never been more fun.  
  
He’s almost at the end of the lecture when he notices the door to the back open. Draco almost drops his book when he notices Harry enter the room and take a seat at the back. Harry walks casually, almost as if he does this every day, walking into Draco’s lecture and lounging at the back.  
  
Draco’s glad he had just given the class a question to think about, it gives him time to wait till Harry’s comfortably settled down and calmly raises his face to make eye contact with Draco. The heat in his eyes,  _the unbridled lust_ , makes Draco struggle to hold back a moan. Harry continues watching, gaze never wavering as Draco stammers out a reading assignment and dismisses the class ten minutes early.  
  
Through it all Harry continues watching him, eyes occasionally raking the length of his body, making Draco feel like Harry can see right through his clothes.  _Can see_  Draco standing naked, dressed in just the lacy underwear he bought for him.  
  
As the door bangs shut behind the last person, Draco’s leaning against his desk, using it to support himself. Harry is walking down the steps, eyes never leaving Draco’s. Harry walks up to him, standing less than a breath apart; without a word he reaches out to curve his hands around Draco’s waist. If he notices Draco’s breath hitch, he doesn’t comment.  
  
Slow enough that Draco can feel the drag of his fingertips through the shirt; Harry curls his fingers in Draco’s shirt and  _pulls_. The shirt tails are barely out when Harry’s dipping his fingers under the shirt, brushing against Draco’s waist with teasing touches.  
  
He still hasn’t broken eye contact with Draco.  
  
Draco’s trembling now, too out of it to even worry about the fact that anybody could walk in at any minute.  
  
Harry takes his time, mapping Draco’s skin with his fingers. He digs in when he reaches Draco’s back, making Draco arch towards him. The look in his eyes is enough to tell Draco what’s going to happen next, yet, he bites back a moan when Harry teases along his lower back, hand moving closer to the top of his trousers. Draco frowns when Harry stops, whining in protest.  
  
“Open your eyes,” Harry says gruffly.  
  
Draco blinks them open, having no idea when he’d let his head fall back, his eyes closed as he enjoyed Harry’s touch.  
  
With their gazes locked, Harry places his hand flat against Draco’s lower back and slips it under his trousers. The moment his fingers brush against the lace Harry moans, pulling Draco closer till they’re both pushed up against the desk. Harry rubs his fingers against the lace, fingers curving around Draco’s arse.  
  
They’re moving against each other, seeking contact any way they can. Draco wants more, wants Harry’s hands on him but he also knows that the moment he’ll be facing Harry in just the lingerie he’ll be gone.  
  
“Do you have another class?”  
  
Draco shakes his head; if he even did have a class he’s pretty sure he would have cancelled it, or begged Blaise to sub for him. Before Draco’s done shaking his head Harry’s lips are on his, the kiss frantic and needy from the start. As Draco moans into the kiss, making Harry’s fingers dig into his arse, he feels Harry turn them on the spot.  
  
Their bedroom is dark, lit only by the light from the streetlamps outside. Harry wastes no time; all the patience and silent wanting from earlier seems to have vanished the moment he realised Draco  _was_ wearing the knickers.  
  
He pushes Draco up against the wall, coat thrown off somewhere already. Without unbuttoning Draco’s shirt Harry drops to his knees, making Draco moan and let his head fall back.  
  
Harry waits till Draco’s trousers have been removed before letting his gaze fall on the red lace, Draco’s cock straining against it.  
  
Harry takes in his fill, pushes Draco’s shirt out of the way till Draco catches the hint and gathers his shirt up and out of the way. Harry brushes his fingers against the lace, making Draco fidget and want to thrust up against Harry’s hand. As if anticipating the action, Harry grips Draco’s hip tightly, making sure he doesn’t move so that Harry can enjoy the view.  
  
Without warning Harry leans forward, mouthing over Draco’s cock through the lace.  
  
Draco whines and tries to buck. “Harry,” he begs. “ _Please_.”  
  
Draco begging is Harry’s undoing.  
  
Draco gasps as he’s turned and backed towards the bed, falling onto his back as his knees hit the edge of the bed.  
  
His last coherent thought before the sound of fabric tearing rents the air and Harry’s  _hotwetsogood_ mouth closes on him, is that he’ll make Harry pay for ruining his favourite pair of knickers.


End file.
